What Dreams Are Made Of
by ringaroundtherollins
Summary: In this sequel to "Reparations", new WWE World Heavyweight Champion Roman Reigns makes contact with an old friend to celebrate and reflect on his hard work. One-shot. Some language.


_**A/N: Before I begin this story, let me just say...CONGRATULATIONS TO ROMAN REIGNS FOR WINNING THE WWE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP TONIGHT! He worked so hard for it, and he deserves it more than anyone! I am so proud of him, and so happy for my Samoan prince! *takes a breath* Alright. Here's the story. Enjoy~**_

* * *

" _YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!_ "

" _LET'S GO, ROMAN! LET'S GO, ROMAN_!"

Screams. Wails. Sirens for voices. Hands flapping in the air. Smiles. Actual smiles. _Cheers_. For _him_.

Roman Reigns scaled the ring ropes and balanced himself on the top cord, gripping the WWE World Heavyweight Championship high above his head. He basked in Philadelphia's joviality. Months and months ago, ten or eleven by now, these same people had been ashamed of him. Sneering at him. Booing, hissing, heckling, glowering. Same folks were now falling on their faces in worship. Figuratively speaking.

He was a proud, proud man.

He'd earned it. He'd fought hard for this title, and at last, at last, it was his.

Roman hopped off the ropes back into the ring. He was not alone there for long. His cousins, Jimmy and Jey Uso, and his incredible brother, and fellow champion, Dean Ambrose were there to exalt him, thank him, praise him. Dean backed off at first, letting the Usos hug their sobbing cousin tight, then Ambrose was blessed with his own hug.

What a night.

The blood. The pain. The tears. The struggle. All of it, down to this.

Had it been worth it?

Hell yeah.

Roman grabbed a microphone. Called the crowd right out on their shift in attitude towards him. What a difference a year makes. It was the shameful rejection of Royal Rumble winner Roman Reigns that inspired him to work so hard. Claw his way to the top. Break in half over this championship.

Again, figuratively speaking.

Roman looked at the camera and wished his little girl Joelle a happy birthday. _Daddy's a champion, my love. I am honored to be your father._

Dean patted his back. "Good job, man." His voice betrayed him. He was congested with tears, too. "I'm so proud of you. _So_ damn proud."

Roman was honored. Touched. But he was not humbled.

He was proud, too.

He fastened the belt around his waist. It filled him, gave him joy like it was a piece of him he'd been missing for so long without even realizing it. This felt good, felt so right. Roman circled the arena, celebrating with fans, letting folks touch him, high-five his outstretched hand, snap selfies with the Samoan warrior as a photograph guest. How many of these very same folks had been here in January, raging against him for a title shot? It didn't matter now. Roman had let it go now that he was victorious. His heart was on fire. He could feel no pain anymore, not in his back nor his chest nor his fist which he'd used to Superman punch Vince McMahon.

Then something occurred to him. Something that seldom made a note of itself in the past, but lately had been smacking about the walls of his brain. Ever since Survivor Series.

The unexpected missed call.

The staggering voicemail.

The baffling callback.

The words. The encouragement.

From Seth Rollins. His former…former?

Brother.

Had he watched the match? Had he earned bragging rights towards Roman, how much he'd talked about Roman someday being the world heavyweight champion?

He wasn't sure. But right now, he wanted to find out.

Roman swaggered backstage towards the locker room, the Usos and Dean Ambrose parading beside him.

"Did you _see_ Sheamus!?" Dean howled, running forward for a spring, punching the air with both fists, the Intercontinental Championship bucking around his waist. "Roman knocked the _hell_ out of him! And old man Vinny was like, 'No, screw you, Roman, you don't get a fair match, and Roman was all, 'Well, take this!' BAM! Right in the face!" He spun back around, overjoyed with wideness of his eyes. His hands jerked theatrically about. "And then that _Spear_! That last Spear! And the other Superman punch! Was there another one? I think there was. But then Roman rolled up on him, and the ref was like, 'One! Two! Three!' Holy shit, I was so happy. I thought for sure Vinny or Sheamus's little buddies were gonna come out again, but no. Clean win. Clean. Win."

"Yeah, Dean, we were there," Jey teased. "We watched the match, too."

Dean ran a trembling hand over his sweaty face. "Good God. What a way to end the night, Roman. You did it, buddy." With an exhausted breath out, he tapped Roman's shoulder again. "Way to go."

"Thanks, Dean."

The Usos made off to a separate locker room, but Dean wasn't quite ready to leave Roman alone. That was fine—right now was no time to be alone, sulk and throw furious punches like last time—but he might have been surprised at what Roman was about to do.

Roman hadn't mentioned to Dean he'd heard from Seth recently. With so much going on for both superstars, the weeks flying by from one pay-per-view to the next, and the astonishment Roman was still trying to process for himself, he'd just never gotten around to sitting Dean down and talking about it.

The weeks were busy enough dealing with the next big event.

Roman pulled his locker open while Dean went off on a different tangent, about how grumpy, jealous, nasty Kevin Owens was up his ass now since Dean had "stolen" "his" Intercontinental Championship. He drew his phone from his bag as Dean howled,  
"Seriously? He thinks he's gonna drive _me_ insane? He's not crazy—he's just _stupid_ if he doesn't know that's where I'm already at."

Roman had several texts, social media notifications, and missed calls. All regarding the same subject: _congratulations_.

 _Thank you, world. My pleasure_.

One missed call—three, actually, Roman found in the list of alerts—caught his attention first and foremost.

He'd definitely tried calling Roman tonight. He'd even left another voicemail. Lengthy. He wondered what it contained.

Roman took a seat on the bench. He considered listening to it. Considered calling Seth back before another idea blossomed. Forget waiting. This was a moment to spread like wildfire and share like love. And it wasn't going to be limited to just a phone call this evening.

Dean was still rambling about Owens and their championships. Bless his lunatic heart. Bless his brother.

Roman brought Seth up from his Contacts list and pressed FaceTime instead of Phone Call.

When the phone pearled like a bell, its version of "ringing" for a FaceTime call, Dean clamped his mouth shut. "Sorry," he whispered. "Who are you calling?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. So I'm just gonna show you."

"Oo-kay?"

It took a little while, but eventually Roman's entire screen filled with the face of a fatigued, bemused, resting Seth Rollins.

"Son of a bitch," was how Rollins answered the call. But he was smiling, then laughing his signature laugh. "What a surprise."

"Hey, you," Roman said. He was smiling again, even wider.

Seth was sitting up in a bed, back pressed against a plump blue pillow, sheets pulled over his lower half. Hair in a messy bun, glasses over his tired hazel eyes, pajama shirt sagging over his Crossfit-advocated chest. Above all, he looked mighty pleased to see Roman, actually _see_ him, for the first time in far too long.

Not just see him. But look at him differently. A look they hadn't shared in over a year. _I missed you…so much_ …

"Let me see it, let me see it," Seth requested.

Roman held the phone at an angle where Seth could see the belt in full around his waist. He pulled a whistle through rounded lips. "Nice, man. _Really_ nice. Feels good to hold, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Roman answered. Nothing had ever felt as good to hold since the day his daughter was born and he held her for the first time.

"Did you get my voicemail?" Seth queried.

"Got it, haven't listened to it yet, though. Felt like this was a better way to answer your missed call."

"Who is that?" Dean mouthed to Roman, head cocked to the side. He looked like he already knew the answer and was awaiting confirmation—or opposition.

"Seth," Roman mouthed back.

"What? Get the hell out of here," Dean blurted loudly, not quite as agitated as Roman might have expected him to be. More so…mystified.

"Is that Ambrose?" Seth asked.

"Yeah," Roman answered before Dean could shake his head.

"Hey, Dean." Seth raised his voice to a volume Dean couldn't miss. "Congrats on your IC title, dude. You killed it last night."

Dean's mouth opened to speak but words evaded him.

"I think he means thank you," Roman said. "This is a surprise to him, too. I, uh…kinda didn't mention your call after Survivor Series." Roman was ashamed of himself for all the secrecy.

"Really can't blame you. Wouldn't be surprised if he never wanted to hear from me again."

Roman glanced up at Dean, wondering if this was true.

Dean's lips were as tightly pressed as his arms were over his chest. He rocked back and forth, debating, considering. With a sigh, he nodded. Roman took it as yes, Dean _could_ actually stand to hear from Seth Rollins again. What did he have to lose here? Dean circled his finger in the air, verifying Roman's guess. He wanted Roman to turn the phone towards him so the former brothers could see each other.

Roman pointed the phone at Dean.

"Hey, Ambrose," Seth said. " _Nice_ title, man. Seriously. It looks pretty good on you."

Something changed within Dean then, moving outwardly. He blinked, and suddenly he wasn't so confounded. Suddenly something made sense to him. His lips twitched as though he was fighting a smile. Perhaps seeing Seth like this, hearing him in this state, reminded Dean of a fonder time. When the boys were all family. When Seth cared.

He clearly cared now.

Dean could trust Roman to that.

"Y-you think so?" Dean asked, fondling the glistening title on his waist. The words pushed his newfound pleasure over the edge, and he gave into a smile.

"Absolutely. It's been way too long since you've been a champion, Dean. Well, I mean, you've always been like a champion, but…tonight, there's the proof to the world, right there."

"Well…thanks, Rollins. Uh, Seth. That's nice of you to say. It wasn't easy. Kevin Owens is kind of a jerk."

"Oh, I know it, dude. Does not play well with other children. And the way he interrupted your match tonight? Two power bombs? Geez, dude, are you okay?"

Dean waved a hand. "Eh, I'll be alright."

"Good. And Roman?"

Roman turned the phone back towards himself. Dean remained in place for a few moments longer, then joined Roman side by side on the bench. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe any of this.

But, much like Seth's first call _and_ his victorious championship match tonight, he was delighted for this all to be true.

"Yeah?" Roman asked.

"You ready for this?"

"Ready for what?"

"My immature, obnoxious gloating."

" _Your_ gloating?" Dean asked, looking to Roman for some explanation. But Roman's original words rang true. Showing had a much greater impact than merely telling.

"Go ahead," Roman permitted.

"I _told_ you!" Seth exclaimed. "I told you, I told you, I _told_ you you were gonna be champion! You were so messed up that night after Survivor Series, and you know I was, too, which is why I called in the first place, but I _told_ you to _never_ give up on yourself and that one day, you _would_ be WWE World Heavyweight Champion. Did I _not_ tell you?"

"You told me. And you and Dean share the tendency to run your mouths."

"Hey!" Dean said at the same time Seth chuckled.

"It's true, though. Roman, you _slayed_ your opponents tonight. You were up against more than just Sheamus, dude: you had the stupid League of Nations on your back as well as Mr. McMahon. And I hate the word 'slay', so you know I must be happy for you if I'm choosing to use it."

Wasn't that the truth.

"But buddy, Roman, my wonderful, strong, passionate, _badass_ Roman Reigns…you killed it. You stepped up to the plate and struck _home_. You ignored every single ounce of hate and negativity—and trust me, I know it ain't an easy thing to do. Trust _me_. You rose above it. You dominated. You conquered. You are the Roman Empire for a reason: you _prevailed above all_."

Roman wallowed in his praise. For some reason, he felt a bit more bashful regarding Seth's praise than that of the WWE Universe. Arrogance and conceit faded into humility.

"Don't take everything I say lightly, Ro, okay? You _earned_ that title tonight. And I could _not_ be _any_ more proud of you."

A single tear welled in Roman's eye. He blinked it away before it escaped down his cheek.

Dean put an arm around him, squeezing the shoulder, leaning his head into Roman. "I am, too."

"Thanks, you guys…but you know…the two of you really helped me through all of this," Roman said.

"Even me?" Seth asked.

"Especially you, Seth. When I became the number one contender for your title, man, I knew it wasn't going to be easy to face you. I'll admit, as badly as I wanted this title, I didn't want it to be you. I would have rather fought anyone else to the death over it. I knew with you…it was going to be the biggest challenge of my life."

Seth grinned grimly.

"Once you were gone…I knew there was work to be done. I knew nothing was going to stand in my way after that point. I was willing to break through every superstar in this company to get to this thing." His left hand upheld the phone; the other moved over the title belt, stroking its plates. "All I can say is, thank God it wasn't going to be you. That in itself was a separate trial."

"Luckily things worked out _so_ well for you," Seth jabbed, referring to his current predicament.

"I'm sorry, Seth. I would have rather fought you for the title than the championship be vacated because you—"

"I know, Roman. I was kidding. I wish things had gone differently, too. I miss being the champion, man, I do. I miss being on top. I hate feeling stuck at the bottom. But I can look up to you and realize, you're an inspiration. You _were_ at the bottom, and look at you now. Mr. WWE World Heavyweight Champion."

Roman's cheeks burned with the appraisal.

His tone twisted to teasing again. "Keep the throne warm for me, Roman. Enjoy it while it lasts. I'll be back for my title in no time."

"Oh, _will_ you?" Roman challenged with a snort. "Good luck. Apparently I'm wonderful, strong, passionate, _badass_ Roman Reigns who can fight through _crowds_ to get what I want. Sounds like you're the one with the issue if you wanna take me on for this bad boy." He couldn't stop touching the title belt. _God_ , it felt amazing. Rightfully his.

"I've had it once, and I'll have it again. Just you wait."

"Not happening."

Seth's eyes veered elsewhere. "Fine, then maybe I'll go after our boy Ambrose's title here. It was fun clashing with me over every little thing, right, Dean?"

 _"Our" boy Ambrose_?

Dean didn't seem to agree with Seth. He placed a protective hand over his championship. "Hell no. Back off. This is mine. Can't you go after the United States title or something instead? I'd much rather see you than Alberto Del Rio for another day."

"Believe me, I'd rather see Cena again than freakin' ADR," Seth said, rolling his eyes. His glasses reflected the television he'd most likely watched TLC—and Raw—on.

"Let's not get carried away with crazy talk," Roman said. "Cena had his run. Time for someone else. Someone _else_ , else. I'm sick of ADR, too."

"Who isn't?" Dean asked.

"We'll see what happens in the future," Seth declared. "Until then, I just need to focus on getting better."

"How are you holding up?" Dean asked.

"You hanging in there?" Roman followed.

"I'm okay. Physical therapy is torture, but it gets a little better by the day. It'll be nice when I can walk again like a normal human being. Is it sad I'm used to the constant pain by now?"

"Yes," Dean said, frowning.

"Don't worry about me, guys. I'll be right as rain and back to the world's most hated WWE superstar in no time."

"People don't hate you. Just hated the choices you made," Roman insisted, firm.

Seth grimaced. "I did make a couple of bad ones, didn't I? I know how selfish I was. What happened to me next…the injury, the surgery, this blasted physical therapy…I feel like maybe it's karma or something, I dunno. Punishment."

"If it is," Dean said, legs swinging beneath the bench, "have you learned your lesson?"

"Yeah. Don't mess with Kane." Seth chuckled.

"I was gonna say, if you didn't, then maybe you get back here someday and nothing's different. You're still the pathetic, whiny, backstabbing, sniveling little weasel the world saw you as. But if you _did_ …then maybe things _can_ change. For the better?"

Seth smiled at him. "What do you want to change?"

"Maybe we're not beating the hell out of each other week by week. Maybe we're…y'know. Against different people. On…y'know. The same side."

"You want the Shield to get back together?"

"I didn't say that. I don't know if I trust you again or not. You just said you weren't sure if you learned your lesson through this punishment yet."

"If it _is_ punishment. And like I said. We'll see what happens."

Dean scraped a hand over his mouth. "I can't believe we're talking like this again, Seth, my God. I thought I was over this, but…"

"You miss him," Roman said, relating to that incredulity. "Huh?"

"Yeah. I do."

"I miss you both so much," Seth said, somber. "But hey. No frowns tonight. No sob stories. This is a big freakin' night. Go out and celebrate, guys. I wish I could join you. But I need to keep on resting if I'm ever gonna be WWE World Heavyweight Champion again."

"Big-ass 'if', boy," Roman teased.

"Ha. Like I said. We'll see. I'm gonna let you both go now. I really need some sleep. I'm drained after yelling at my TV for the past few hours."

"Oh," Dean said, disappointment tinting his voice. "Well, okay. Good talking to you, Rollins."

"You too, Ambrose. And I mean that. I miss you guys like hell. Priorities take shape when circumstances are dire."

"Get that out of a fortune cookie?"

"Nope. Right here." Seth tapped a fist over his heart.

Dean's taunting was cut off by Seth's sincerity. "Oh. Damn, Seth. This is the guy I've been missing since last year. I want him back." He tapped a finger on the screen.

"Miss you, little brother," Roman said.

"Miss you too, big brother. Have a good night, guys. Keep in touch."

"I guess we will now," Dean said.

"Goodnight, guys."

"'Night, Seth," Roman said at the same time Dean voiced: "'Night, Rollins."

Dean sighed extensively. "Geez. Wasn't ready for that bombshell tonight. I can't believe you called him."

"He called me first," Roman mentioned. "I was just as surprised as you were."

"You really think he'll come back this way?" Dean asked. "All…sincere and whatnot?"

"I believe it. And I really hope it."

"I do, too," Dean admitted. With another sigh he pushed off the bench. "I'm gonna go shower. I reek. Then what do you say to a wee bit o' celebration? Drinks with the Usos?"

"Sure. You're buying, though."

"Man, champions don't buy!" Dean cried.

"I outrank you. Therefore, you buy."

Dean rolled his head back. "Fine. You're lucky I like you so much."

"I like you, too."

Dean darted out of the locker room. When the door fell closed behind him, Roman lifted his phone again. He hadn't forgotten about the voicemail. It still meant a little something to him.

He pressed the device to his ear and smiled as Seth's voice filled his head and his heart.

" _Roman!_ It's Seth, and I know you won't get this until later on, but holy _shit_! I just watched the match and _holy shit_ , dude. Holy hell…I can't believe it…if I had two functioning knees, I'd be dancing around my room right now. Jumping up and down, literally _dancing_. But hell, if I had two functioning knees, I'd be battling you right now instead of that loser Sheamus for my title, instead of being locked up in this room…God, Roman, I'm so happy. I'm so unbelievably happy for you!" He reminded Roman so much of Dean in that moment. "You did it! You're the champion! You're the man of the night! You are the _man_! I _told_ you! I _told_ you you could do it! Did you believe me? Hope you did, 'cause I was right!" His voice tired out, and his words slowed in his repose. "God. I was scared, dude, scared Sheamus had you for a second there towards the end…especially when Vince interfered, grabbed the official, distracted him, and those damn League of Nations guys came running out…but you've done what you've always managed to do, Roman. You fought your ass off. You killed out there. You did to them what you did to Triple H—which, by the way, after he just dropped me and turned his twisted ways onto you? Tempting you to sell out? Screw that nonsense, dude. Way to be strong against him, the way I wasn't…anyway. I was smiling when you beat him to hell. And I was smiling tonight when you won. I'm still smiling, man. Still am. Can you hear it? Can you hear how happy I am for you? It's all real. It's all true. I am proud of you, Roman Reigns. Anyway. I'm sure I'll hear back from you later…I can't wait to hear from you. I love you, Roman. Call me back."

Roman saved the voicemail with the other one. Touched the championship belt once more.

He was happy.


End file.
